


purple, for victory

by Kinvi



Series: rainbow, for you [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, both of them are trying their best but they're still in denial, god i dont ever know what to put here, some risen get burned, they make a day of it, what the hell is canon anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinvi/pseuds/Kinvi
Summary: Another battle comes to a close and Chrom tries to help Robin work out what's on his mind.part two of my flowercentric series! they're all standalone, but chronologically this one is second
Relationships: Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Series: rainbow, for you [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1574419
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	purple, for victory

**Author's Note:**

> im here with my very large bag of artistic and creative liberties AHEM LETS SEE
> 
> \--risen dont immediately fade into dust when they die, thats Boring and the Cowards way out  
> \--robin doesnt actually remember anything from before the start of the game, but he has...Habits? his fervor for making sure the risen get "put to rest" properly is one of them. he doesnt know Why he needs to do it, just that he Does  
> \--chrom knows a lot of flowers because Two Sisters
> 
> okay thats enough since this one is. double the length of yellow and every time i tried to wrap it up chrom said "nO NOT YET" SO. take this im going to bed!!!

The battlefield was nothing new to Chrom. The torn ground, the twisted weapons, the bodies strewn here and there where they fell or crawled to eventually die—to be frank, it was something he’d gotten used to long ago. He couldn’t say that he was proud of it. None of them could. All Chrom could hope for, day after day, was that the corpses he piled up weren’t of his friends.

He let his grip on Falchion relax as another Risen gurgled and crumpled into a heap a few feet away from him, head split open on Frederick’s comically large axe. Chrom raised a hand briefly in gratitude and straightened, casting his gaze around. No more obvious skirmishes. That seemed to be the end. Chrom let out a heavy breath and raised his sword over his head. 

“WEAPONS UP!” he bellowed, fighting the ache in his ribs from an earlier blow. “CLEAR?”

“Clear!” came a firm reply from Frederick, raising his axe in the same.

“Clear!” someone else echoed from further down the field. Cordelia, by the tone.

“Good over here!”

“All set!”

Chrom kept track of how many voices called out to him, counting in his head. He heard all but one answer his call. Chrom lowered his arm and swung his head around, searching for that last shout. He took a couple hesitant steps further forward.

“Robin?” he called. “Robin, are you safe?”

“Clear,” someone wheezed from the ground nearby. “Had to...catch my breath…”

Chrom took an automatic step back and looked down. Robin’s dark coat had blended with the dirt, hair muddled with ash to further hide him. Chrom met an upturned honey eye and knelt, planting his sword firmly in the soil to keep it upright. Chrom reached out, placing his hand between his tactician’s shoulder blades, and watched as Robin let out a shaky sigh and closed his eyes.

“Robin?” Chrom asked, mild panic stirring in his chest.

“I’m alright,” Robin mumbled into a little patch of grass. “Used...too much mana. No blood, just bruises.”

Chrom forced himself to swallow and relax a bit. “You’ve overdone it again. I’ve half a mind to accuse you of doing this on purpose, considering how often I find you lying in the mud. The ground can’t be that comfortable, really?”

“Rude,” Robin grumbled, squinting his visible eye open again. “It’s not like I enjoy eating dirt. If you’re going to chastise me, I’d ask that you leave me and my earthen pillow to wallow in our exhaustion.”

“Not a chance. Let’s get you up.”

Chrom had tried, Naga as his witness, every spellbook in the royal library. From an early age, his sisters had both shown talent for the arcane. And Chrom? Never even a spark. He couldn’t cast, he couldn’t heal, he couldn’t even read the runes inscribed in all of Robin’s books. Chrom knew nothing about magic, but he knew very well when things had gone too far. He’d seen Lissa sick to high heaven when trying to heal wounds far too ghastly for her current skill level. He’d seen Mirel reduced to one-word sentences when her spell repertoire ran dry. He’d even seen Ricken with hands covered in paper cuts from the backlash of harnessing too strong a gust.

And, of course, Chrom saw the way Robin teetered about, irritable and dizzy, admitting he’d gone too far but still too wound up with the adrenaline to accept aid. Maybe Chrom would get lucky this time. Maybe Robin was too overwhelmed to protest, if he worked quick enough.

“Don’t wanna,” Robin slurred.

Chrom cursed internally and reluctantly took his hands out from under his tactician. Fighting Robin would only lead to more stress. How to fix the situation? Chrom raised a hand, resting his chin on a knuckle. The best way to get Robin to cooperate was work. There had to be a job to do. 

“We still have to clean up all this mess,” Chrom reminded. “We have to burn the Risen. This was your idea, remember?”

Robin groaned and shifted an arm, bringing it up to cover his face. “Don’t remind me,” he huffed. “...I know. Give me—another minute. I don’t need to faint when I get vertical.”

“Would it help if I called Lissa over for you?”

Robin shifted his arm and revealed his face again. He blinked slowly and made to roll, wincing, and ended up on his back. Robin gave a long sigh and pushed his bangs back with one hand, staring up towards the sky. Chrom wasn’t sure he actually saw it. 

“There’s nothing she can do for me right now,” Robin murmured. “I’ll be fine with a long nap. When are we marching again? Is it tomorrow or the day after?”

“It’s whenever you can stand unassisted,” Chrom retorted, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve told you time and time again we only march when everyone can walk. If you get to be mad at me for recklessness, I get to be mad at you too.”

“You aren’t mad.”

“Yes I am.”

“Are not.”

Chrom felt his expression sour. “If you keep that up, you’ll find out just how close to boiling over I am.”

Robin wheezed out a chuckle, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a faint smile. He reached over, patting Chrom awkwardly on the upper arm as best as he could reach.

“You’re a good man, Chrom,” Robin offered softly. “Don’t ever lose that kindness. The world will suffer without it.”

Chrom opened his mouth to reply but found himself struck dumb. He felt his face heat as he realized he couldn’t look away from the gentle expression still painted on Robin’s face. The dark shadows under his eyes bespoke sleepless nights and days of planning, accounting for every small detail possible. Robin never complained, even when he should, and he still loved the world around him. Robin still saw that warmth, and he saw it within _Chrom_ of all people.

Chrom wasn’t sure he deserved that kind of blind faith.

Robin was different from all the other Shepherds. Of course, they were all loyal to a fault, hardworking, dedicated, talented in combat. Chrom had gathered them to him as volunteers, trained at their sides to protect the same things. Robin shared these traits, but Chrom had earned their trust, their devotion. Robin? Chrom hadn’t earned a _thing_ from Robin. 

Robin had nothing. No memory, no identity, no discernible purpose. He was just there one day, and none of them knew how or why, least of all Robin himself. No papers or documents or journal explaining himself, that they could find. Just an uncomfortably obvious heritage and apparel. Robin had absolutely no reason to trust anyone, and yet he had unshakable, almost devout faith in Chrom.

It really wasn’t fair.

“Thoughtful isn’t a good look on you,” Robin mused, snapping Chrom from his thoughts. “Copper coin for them?”

Chrom cleared his throat, blinking away what he hoped were the last signs of brooding. “They’re worth more than that, aren’t they?”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Robin huffed, heaving himself to sit up. “It’s about time I stopped laying around on the job. We have Risen to burn.”

Before Chrom could protest, Robin was up on his feet. He wobbled and staggered a step before throwing out his arms and steadying. Chrom reached for the hilt of Falchion and heaved himself up too, stretching out an arm to brace Robin’s shoulder. He tugged his sword free once he felt safe, and Robin straightened out, cracking his neck and interlacing his fingers, throwing them high over his head to stretch. A flash of teeth and a quiet whine revealed a yawn as Robin dropped his arms and blinked the haze out of his eyes.

“Everyone accounted for?” Robin asked, moving to drag a nearby Risen along with him. “Any serious injuries?”

Chrom felt his response die on his tongue again. “I...everyone replied, so—I think it’s fine.”

Robin stopped dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder with eyes wide. “You didn’t check on them?” Robin asked critically. “You spent so much time with me, and you didn’t check on anyone else?”

And now he was being chewed out. Great.

“Lissa and Maribelle would’ve—”

“No, no, absolutely not,” Robin protested. “Think about what kind of message you’re sending here. Forget the dead, your first duty is to your _actual_ _troops_ , Chrom!”

“Of which, you’re one,” Chrom retorted. “I wasn’t just going to leave you lying there by yourself!”

“I’m no more important than the other dozen members!”

Chrom almost raised his voice in return. Yes you are, he wanted to say, and the guilt ate him up. How could he say that he valued one of his friends more than the others? Robin would never accept that. Robin wouldn’t accept that, maybe, Chrom had grown a bit fonder of his tactician than he really should. He would think it improper and awkward. Chrom couldn’t betray the trust Robin had in him, misplaced as it might be. There was too much at stake.

Perhaps sensing his brewing regret, Robin seemed to unwind briefly. He dropped the malformed hunk of purple flesh and gestured vaguely towards the camp. His voice came softer, still exhausted.

“Let’s go back first,” Robin suggested. “I...need something for my—current condition. You need to check on the others. I’ll join you in...half an hour?”

Chrom couldn’t hold back a sigh. “Half an hour,” he agreed, falling into step.

Their walk was silent. Chrom knew he should’ve made more of an effort to protect his entire team, and he knew part of the reason Robin had been so upset with him was that he was worried too. Robin was just as obsessed with making sure everyone was safe, and it really wasn’t fair to stress him over it too. Chrom should’ve brought good news. For the moment, he knew Robin didn’t want to speak to him, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward.

They split off when they arrived back at camp. Robin turned his unsteady steps towards his own tent and Chrom reluctantly didn’t move to stop him. Feeling absolutely like he did something wrong, he wandered the perimeter and greeted those he saw before winding up at the medical tent. He knocked on the center support beam before being called inside by the relatively cheerful voice of his sister. At least that meant she wasn’t sewing up a gash.

Chrom parted the curtain and ducked inside, having to crouch for a moment before clearing the low hanging cloth and being able to straighten as the ceiling tapered up. Lissa looked up from her collection of miscellaneous items and grinned, lopsided and wide. A bit of tension eased off Chrom’s shoulders.

“There you are!” she greeted warmly. “I was wondering where you went. Robin hanging in there?”

Chrom rolled his eyes just a bit. “Exhausted, as per usual. The mana depletion seems to be milder this time. He could walk on his own after a couple minutes of rest.”

“Ooh, good signs, good signs,” she murmured, pressing a finger to her lips absently. “Any injuries on the two of you?”

“A couple bruises on me, nothing that you haven’t done worse with your pranks. Not sure about Robin. He seemed alright.”

Lissa wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out, clicking her case shut. “I’ll want to look the two of you over later, anyway. If you’re walking and talking, you’re not my priority. I expect you both back before dinner, though.”

Chrom knew better than to argue when she pulled that tone. “Yes, ma’am,” he sighed, scratching at the back of his head. “How are the others?”

“Vaike got a nice stab wound to the thigh, but it’s not as bad as I expected. Stahl got bucked off his horse and ended up with a concussion. Other than that, nothing notable, thanks to you and Robin holding the front lines.”

Chrom gave an absent nod, rubbing at his wrist. Gods, he still had so much to do. Clean Falchion, the battlefield, his relationship with his tactician. That was a lot for one night. He wasn’t even sure Robin wanted to talk to him yet, or if he would by proper nightfall. They’d promised to meet up in half an hour, though, so maybe that was a good sign? Oh no. They hadn’t agreed on a spot. Who would have to find who?

“Hellooo? Earth to Chrom? Pretty sure you’re going transparent now. You can tell me if you’re injured, you know, that’s kind of my job and all.”

Ah. The distress must’ve shown on his face. Lissa was eyeing him curiously, brow furrowed in concern, but he raised a hand to wave her off. Chrom turned on his heel and found himself fiddling with the pommel of his sword as he made to duck out of the tent again. He held the flap for his sister, and she flashed him a shitty grin.

“Just thinking about Robin, then?” she teased, and skipped off laughing before he could protest.

Damn. Was it that obvious?

Chrom chose, perhaps poorly, to throw all the thoughts in his brain right out. He knew he started walking but he wasn’t sure where he intended to end up. He kept his grip on the handle of his sword and tried really, really hard _not_ to think about Robin.

Of course, Chrom ended up in front of his tent.

That was a problem for multiple reasons. Was Robin ready to talk to him? Did Chrom know what he wanted to say? Why the hell did he find himself right smack in the middle of the place he hadn’t wanted to be? It was difficult. Everything was difficult.

“I know you’re just standing there, Chrom,” a voice sighed from behind the fabric. “Are you coming in or not?”

Terrifying. Chrom excused himself quietly under his breath and edged himself inside. After getting far enough in to stand straight, he dared to cast his gaze around. Despite how much they moved about, Robin always seemed to set his tent up about the same. That at least aided Chrom slightly in not tripping over the increasingly startling amount of books and scrolls and maps draped over everything. He swore they multiplied every time they unpacked.

Robin was hunched over his little folding desk, more ink than wood now probably, and with one of the legs tied together with some spare rope. Chrom had offered to replace it, but Robin refused. It had character, he voiced proudly. Lissa laughed and said it made him look like a klutz. If it made his tactician happy, Chrom wouldn’t fight it. 

Robin glanced over as Chrom straightened. He had his face braced on one of his fists, elbow resting on a rare clear spot of his desk. He had a small cup in his other hand, fingers hooked like a claw around the top of it, swirling the dark liquid inside in slow circles. Robin raised his brow briefly and brought the cup to his lips, still holding it like an animal, and took a sip. Chrom watched his nose wrinkle and Robin set it back down.

“Well?” Robin asked. “Are you ready for the pyre?”

It took Chrom a moment to realize he was being addressed. “I...Are you?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Chrom blinked. “I mean, if you’re too tired from the battle, I’m sure Frederick will light it.”

“No,” Robin blurted, almost too quickly. His eyes were quickly averted. “No,” he repeated softer, “it has to be me.”

Chrom kept trying to weasel a better answer out of his tactician, but Robin stood firm in his avoidance. Ever since the Risen had appeared, Robin had insisted their remnants be put to flame, and he refused to allow anyone but himself to start the blaze. He either couldn’t or wouldn’t explain why, even when Chrom pressed. It was important to Robin, even if Robin perhaps didn’t know why.

“Finish up what you’re doing, then,” Chrom replied. “I’ll call the others. Just scratches on most, you’ll be relieved to hear.”

“Oh, good,” Robin sighed. “I’m ready now. Let me just…” He picked up his little cup again, properly this time, and downed the rest of his drink in one go. Chrom swore his face turned a bit green. “Eugh. But it works. Let’s go.”

At least Robin was steadier on his feet. Chrom held the canvas and allowed his partner to duck out, then made to follow. The camp had gone quieter during Chrom’s absentminded adventure. As they approached the perimeter, Chrom found it was because most of the Shepherds had already returned to the field to gather up the Risen. Notably absent were the two with bigger injures, along with Lissa and Maribelle. Frederick was off to one side, busied with piling up the wood for the base.

“Gods, I’ve told him not to do that,” Robin grumbled. “His mountain of a blaze will kill us all, I swear.”

Chrom couldn’t hold back a grin as Robin ran off, jogging up to Frederick and wildly motioning for him to stop. Chrom couldn’t overhear their conversation, but he saw how Robin scolded the lieutenant and put his foot down. Frederick, defeated, began to sadly dismantle his mess of kindling and logs. Robin put his face in his hands as he returned to Chrom’s side.

“It’s bad enough we let him start the ones at camp,” Robin sighed, rejoining Chrom. “Every time, I tell him, I don’t need a base for this. Too much smoke. If the wind changes, we’ll all be gassed out. Risen don’t burn the same as actual corpses.”

Chrom had nothing to offer to that except a small, unknowing smile. They didn’t speak much as they helped clean up, but Robin didn’t wander off. The fact that he was sticking close to Chrom’s side betrayed an unfocused mind. Robin had something to say but still wasn’t sure how to say it. That was fine. They had time.

Once the pile was completed, the Shepherds backed away. A few of them left entirely. Chrom didn’t blame them. It wasn’t something just anyone had the stomach to watch. He kept his place a half pace behind Robin, ready to reach out and prevent his tactician from falling face first into the bonfire he was about to light. 

Robin pulled a tome from inside his cloak and allowed it to fall open in his palm. Chrom couldn’t find a rhyme or reason to the pages Robin would reference while casting. Sometimes it was early in the book, sometimes later, and, sometimes, Robin wouldn’t even open the damn thing. The page faceup had a circle of some kind, scrawled runes in a language Chrom couldn’t read around the edge. Robin held up his other hand, and with a word, fire sprang into life above his palm. Robin held it a moment before turning his wrist, hooking his gloved fingers into a claw. The fire sparked and spat, but Robin didn’t let it go. It burned hotter but not larger, condensing menacingly into a hissing, furious ball. Chrom wondered, not for the first time, what kind of willpower it took not to freak out when holding an open flame in the palm of your hand. He wished he could see Robin’s expression.

When the heat washing off the summoned magic was starting to alarm Chrom, Robin made his move. Chrom saw his fingers twitch once, twice, then straighten out. Robin gave the fire a soft push forward, and it was off like a shot. It latched onto the Risen at the bottom and all but screamed, clawing its way up the tower to engulf the lot of them. Chrom reflexively took a step back, reaching out to grab onto Robin’s hood. He was ready to pull them both back, dive for cover, but it wasn’t necessary. Fire was fire, but it was also Robin’s magic—Robin’s will. Chrom trusted Robin.

They couldn’t have been there for long. The magic ate and ate and turned the Risen into ash and smoke, and then it burned itself out with a soft pop. The ground underneath them wasn’t nearly as charred as Chrom always expected. Still, he hadn’t wanted to risk leaving Robin alone, transfixed by his creation. Chrom stayed until it was gone, and then when he turned his head over his shoulder, everyone was gone. Well. Everyone but Frederick, who had been likewise mesmerized by the sight. Chrom shifted his hand, putting it on Robin’s shoulder. 

“It’s over,” he offered softly, and Robin stirred. “You did great. Let’s go back.”

Robin shook his head once, and only slightly. Chrom flicked his eyes down a bit, noticing how Robin was flexing his fingers absently. Still trying to sort his thoughts. Still needing someone there when he was ready. Chrom didn’t sigh. He turned a bit, keeping his grip firmly on Robin, and gestured to Frederick.

“Frederick,” he said, “you go first, set everyone up with dinner. We’ll be back later.”

Frederick squinted slightly, but he knew better than to ask when. Later meant later. “Milord,” he only replied with a polite salute, and Frederick turned and walked away.

With just the two of them, Robin seemed to relax a tad. Chrom kept his hand where it was still, but Robin closed and returned his tome to the inside of his cloak. Then, as was the same every time Robin set a Risen-fueled bonfire, he brought his hands together just below his chest. Robin knitted his fingers into an upturned bowl, thumbtips together and pointing skyward. He murmured something Chrom couldn’t make out—Plegian, he knew, but not the meaning of the words—and then sighed. His hands came apart and Robin finally turned, fixing Chrom in a single honey eye.

“Follow me,” Robin requested quietly. “There’s somewhere I want to go.”

Chrom didn’t argue. His hand was dislodged, but he fell into step anyway. He wasn’t entirely sure where Robin was taking him, but he did have a flicker of surprise as they skirted the camp entirely. Robin arced and didn’t stop at the large hill they’d tucked behind. Planting his feet with assurance, they still had to almost crawl up the slope. More than once, Chrom reached for a rock jutting from the ground just to steady himself. Careening back down wasn’t high on his to-do list for the night.

Reaching the top left them both out of breath. Robin threw himself immediately into the grass on his back, arms spread wide. Chrom huffed and sat heavily next to him, bracing his forearm on a knee to keep himself up. He shook his head and turned to his companion.

“If you dragged me...all the way up here, just so you could take a nap on the ground—”

Robin laughed as best he could. “No, no,” he assured, waving a hand through the air. “Just...today’s been a bit much, even if it’s routine. I came up here before the battle. The view’s nice.”

Chrom cast his gaze outwards. It was nice. The weather was clear, so he could see quite a distance. The sprawling countryside was nothing new to Chrom, but he knew Robin treasured little things. Little wonders. It would do all of them good to take a page from Robin’s book, absorb a little bit of magic from the world. Chrom tried to do just that.

“It’s beautiful,” he offered, and he wasn’t just saying that.

“It is,” Robin agreed. “Chrom.”

“Mm?”

Silence. Chrom looked back over. Robin’s eyes weren’t out over the view. They were up, looking at the stars. They were up, looking at something Chrom couldn’t see.

“Are we really winning?”

The softness of Robin’s voice punched Chrom in the chest almost as much as the question itself. Are we really winning?

“Of course we are,” Chrom answered. “Why, do you think we’re _not_ winning?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robin countered, and he blinked. “I wouldn’t say we’re losing, either, but...this feels like a stalemate. It feels like two kings chasing each other around the board. We’re getting nowhere fast.”

“We haven’t lost a single fight since you joined up.”

“Battles, yes, but what about the _war_?” Robin insisted, tangling his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “We can’t keep going like this forever. We beat down Risen, brigands, Plegian soldiers—but there’s only so many of us. We don’t have an army. We have a dozen volunteers. Losing even one person will cripple us. As your advisor, but better, as your friend, Chrom...we aren’t going to win the battle of stamina. Something has to change.”

Chrom knew Robin was right. He looked down, over the edge, and saw the camp below him. He saw the fire, the little figures gathered around it, and he imagined he could hear their laughter drifting up towards them with the smoke. Militarily, losing anyone would be devastating. Emotionally, it would always be worse. Chrom knew Robin worked himself to the bone to prevent it, but he was still right. It was a war of attrition, and even with all of Robin’s careful planning and calculations, they weren’t coming out on top.

It wasn’t fair.

“It’s about time we head back to Ylisstol,” Chrom replied. “We’ll regroup, rest up, get some new information. That’s what you need, isn’t it? If we’ve got any luck, the scouts and spies should have something by now. Something that’ll let us end this.”

“If we’re lucky,” Robin repeated, and he gave a sigh, “yeah. Alright. As long as we’re on the same page.”

“I’m glad we’re reading the same book,” Chrom purred.

Robin gave another chuckle, a bit more genuine. He hauled himself to sit and turned his gaze down to the camp as well. Something fond flickered over Robin’s expression until something else caught his attention. Chrom watched as Robin reached out, plucking a nearby flower carefully between his fingers and holding it up to the light. The way Robin’s brow would furrow and he’d push his lower lip out when thinking were endearing. The Gods would just have to forgive Chrom if he stared a second too long.

“What is this one?” Robin asked, holding it out to Chrom.

Chrom craned his neck, leaning to sniff at it. “Violet, if I’m not mistaken. Hardy little things. They grow almost everywhere.”

Robin gave a soft hum as he brought it back to sniff for himself. After a moment, he glanced back to Chrom and leaned closer. Chrom held his breath as Robin tucked the little thing under the clasp to his pauldron, poking it briefly to make sure it stayed in place. As he drew back, Chrom couldn’t help but be stunned by the brilliant smile Robin flashed to him.

“The color suits you,” Robin said with a tip of his head. “Very royal.”

“You’re the one who looks good in purple,” Chrom blurted thoughtlessly, and then felt his face heat up.

Robin blinked and quickly turned away, raising a hand to scratch at his cheek. Was he blushing too? The pale moonlight made it hard to tell. It did let Robin’s hair almost glow, though, which was almost as bad for Chrom’s heart. He cleared his throat and willed himself to calm, standing slowly. Robin copied him after a moment.

“We should go back,” Robin said simply with a nod.

“Y-yeah,” Chrom agreed. “Still a lot to do. We’ll make it work. We’ll win this.”

Robin smiled again, softer, and didn’t offer any verbal reply. Chrom knew he was being followed as he began easing himself back down the embankment. He could just leap and let gravity decide, but he didn’t want to dislodge Robin’s little gift. Chrom found his hand reaching up, brushing against it. Such a little thing, but such a strong determination to grow, to survive, to live.

Purple, for victory.


End file.
